


The Edge of the Earth

by arcadianpetriedish



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Abduction, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Falling In Love, Fertility Issues, First Time, Grief/Mourning, Heartbreak, Love, Movie Night, POV First Person, Post-Episode: s07e22 Requiem, Pregnancy, Sad, Sex, Tears, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-27
Updated: 2016-09-27
Packaged: 2018-08-18 06:04:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8151646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arcadianpetriedish/pseuds/arcadianpetriedish
Summary: Mulder's missing, Scully's pregnant, and she's never felt so scared and alone in her entire life.  It wasn't supposed to happen this way. 
Set immediately post-Requiem, this is Scully's POV of her drive home from the hospital and her first night without Mulder as she tries to process the fact that the both the best and worst news of her life happened on the same day.





	

_"I know you're coming back, so why am I dying inside?"_

_Blessid Union of Souls - "Standing at the Edge of the Earth_

 

He'd left the flyswatter on top of the fridge, and I had no way of retrieving it.

  
  _I cried._

 

 I have never been a crier by nature, but I'm having a hard time being pregnant.  So many negative things surrounded what was supposed to be the happiest moment of my life.  I'd wanted a baby for years, but these circumstances were not ones that would have ever crossed my mind throughout my years of dreaming, then wishing, and eventually praying that I would become a mother.

 

 Babies liked me.  I liked babies.  Mulder was usually mystifyingly obtuse when it came to situations involving my personal dreams and needs, at least on the surface.   He could insert himself into the mind of a serial killer without a problem but he reserved his old VCU parlor tricks for everyone else and chose not to see the way I unconsciously made my way to any child involved in our cases, or so I thought. But I saw the moment it clicked for him.  Depending on the circumstance, Mulder had a few different “looks” he would throw at me.  The one I received the most was an equal mix of frustration and pleading, which usually immediately followed one of his more outlandish theories.  Another was so earnest and captivated that I blushed down to my toes whenever I saw it.  I'm a little nervous about that one sometimes, but I have to admit it's a favorite.

 

 Mulder and I once got onto the subject of our respective families’ genetics, as we were recovering from a tragic moment while on a harrowing case in Home, Pennsylvania.  A deceased infant born with an impossible amount of genetic abnormalities was discovered after it was buried alive, and I was a bit shaken after performing the autopsy (as Mulder looked on in the claustrophobic confines of the tiny office bathroom, no less).  We’d gone outside for some air, and Mulder casually tossed out a non sequitur about me finding a partner and “pumping out über-Scullys.”  That was definitely an interesting mental image.  I retorted by immediately inquiring about _his_ genetic makeup.  The brief look of panic on his face was priceless; I doubt the idea of children had ever crossed his mind before our discussion.  As our break ended, he called to me as I was leaving, and when I turned back to him, he wore an expression I'd never seen in the almost four years we’d worked together.  He studied my face intently, as if seeing me for the first time.  He looked intrigued, yet his face was soft, his eyes kind.  I wondered what was on his mind.

 

 “I never saw you as a mother before,” he confessed.

 

  I tried to outwardly minimize how flustered I felt by his statement, which was considerably intimate for both of us, given our usual banter.  It was like he’d briefly seen me as an actual flesh-and-blood woman instead of “Scully: Work Partner,” and even more, it was like he appreciated what he saw.  How exactly does one answer that?  Was an answer even necessary?  I was surprised that he'd said anything at all.  I smiled as we parted ways that day, trying to imagine Mulder as someone's father; he was often like a big kid himself.  The little crush I kept hidden intensified that day.

 

 When I was younger, I always assumed I'd get married and add a whole new twiggy branch to the Scully family tree.  If pressed, I’m sure my mother would say it was just something she and my father _expected_ of me.  Dana Scully would become a doctor, Doctor Scully would meet the man of her dreams (bonus points if he was Navy), and Dr. Dana Scully would give Maggie and Ahab brilliant little grandchildren.  When I was recruited into the FBI, Daddy never told me outright that he was disappointed in his Starbuck, but I felt it; I could see it in the looks he gave me.  Daddy died before having a chance to really know his daughter as an adult.  His expectations for me were always significant; he’d never say it out loud, but while he loved Melissa dearly, her free-spirited lifestyle certainly was not what he had planned.  As the only other daughter, the pressure of fulfilling his hopes and dreams fell directly on me.  His exaltation upon my completion of medical school was overshadowed by what almost seemed like a feeling of betrayal when I later opted to join the FBI.  Did he think I was throwing away a normal _successful_ life and future family in favor of a career that could very easily get me killed?  I never completely understood why he felt the way he did; my mother wouldn’t talk about it, and he wasn’t there to explain.

 

 When Duane Barry kidnapped me, and unspeakable things were done to my body, I eventually learned that the most necessary ingredient to my eventual motherhood was taken from me.   It was almost as if _they_ saw directly into the plans I had for the direction of my life and eliminated the one thing I’d always taken for granted that would eventually be a part of it.  You never really want something until you’re told you can’t have it.

 

It wasn’t until I was dying of cancer that it became more than just an abstract loss, though. That was the first time I ever truly longed to have a baby and definitely the first time I imagined having one with Mulder.  I was dying; as I lay in the hospital bed, I started distracting myself by imagining different outcomes to my life.  My own personal edition of _Choose Your Own Adventure_ , where none of them ended with cancer.  It was a sweet daydream; something that got my mind off of the treatments that always left me so sick and weary.  It started innocently enough.  I imagined watching children playing in the grass.  The names were the only consistent features; sometimes there was one child, sometimes two.  The girl was always named for my sister Melissa, and the boy was William, after my father.  The scenarios evolved as the doctors battled my cancer.  It’s rather morbid to think I actually started looking forward to the treatments, as hard as they were on my body, because I wanted to know what happened next in the story my mind spun as a solace.

 

 I remember one of them in vivid detail.  This time around, William was an only child.  He was older, and played Little League baseball.  His team was in the middle of a huge game, and Mulder joined us to watch, too. Everyone was cheering.  The sharp crack of the bat sent the ball hurtling into right field.  William followed it with hawk eyes, and as he prepared to catch it, he leapt up at the last moment, snagging the ball and sending it screaming towards second base before he even fully hit the ground.  The boy on base was caught trying to steal third, and was tagged out for his efforts.  Our side of the stands completely erupted.  Mulder started insistently tapping my shoulder.  He was beaming with pride.

 

 “ _I_ taught him that!!  Our boy’s gonna be in the majors, Scully!”

 

 Daydream Me had never given much thought to the identity of my imaginary children’s father.  It dawned on me that it all made so much sense -- of _course_ it would be Mulder!  I had no idea what kind of real-life father he would be to my hypothetical children, but he appeared to be a wonderful, doting father in my dreams.  He became a regular in the dreams from that point forward.  I remain convinced that these little fantasies of mine played a small role in my recovery -- they nudged me to keep fighting; my story wasn’t over yet.  Once I went into remission, I never mentioned any of it to Mulder.  This was mostly because I wasn’t sure of the true nature of his feelings for me.  I know, without question, he cared for me immensely, but beyond that, his motivations were unclear.  Had I told him of our secret family, it’s entirely possible that he would’ve laughed, been horrified, or maybe both.  I tried not to dwell on the daydreams myself -- they were merely a coping mechanism to distract me from knowing precisely what was happening to my body, but I’d ultimately found myself somewhat attached to the idea of Mulder and I living a relatively normal family life.  Despite all my attempts to banish it, the fantasy lingered.

 

 When my health improved enough to return to work, Mulder and I resumed our many travels through the country.  We always spent an inordinate amount of time in indistinguishable rental cars, and at some point, the secret family reappeared during the endless hours with Mulder behind the wheel.  It was sort of fun to imagine we were on vacation.  Instead of tracking some boat creature in Florida, for example, I’d pretend we were taking the kids to Disney World.  It always made the trip much easier to bear; at least for a little while.

 

 The bond Mulder and I shared grew stronger after the cancer.  He was generally slightly possessive of me, and he had a tendency to be a bit handsy from the start of our partnership, but after I returned to work, I noticed he was much more personal with me.  He stood closer, he touched me more, and his looks often lingered.  I’d grown rather fond of him, myself.  I enjoyed the attention.  Mulder even told me he loved me once.  He was drugged and hospitalized, so I knew he was a little loopy; I noticed him petting my jacket when I was at his bedside.  I enjoyed it enough to let him continue, plus I was so happy that his boneheaded Bermuda Triangle “vacation” didn’t kill him, I would have let him pet me all night had he chosen.  I was going to leave the room, but he called me back to his bedside, his voice serious.  I went to him and leaned close.  He studied my face for a moment, then simply said “I love you.”

 

 Hearing _those_ words, from Mulder, out loud caught me entirely off-guard.  I know he was drugged, but something about his brown sugar tone of voice and the sincere look in his eyes made me think he was at least partially serious.  I took the safe route and blamed it on the drugs.  I rolled my eyes at him, gave him my best Lucy van Pelt “Oh, _brother_ ,” and left.

 

 His confession, if that’s what it was, scared me.  My reaction happened the way it did because his words would’ve brought tears to my eyes if I’d stayed any longer.  My eyes are extremely expressive and Mulder is rather adept at reading them.  I didn’t want to damage our partnership if it really _was_ just the drugs, so I did what I do best:  I ran away.

 

 No wonder I was single for so many years.  I had the occasional date after my assignment to the X-Files, including one which actually _became_ an X-File.  I threw myself into my work, rationalizing that I was far too busy to entertain any thought of a romantic social life.  I’m also not the easiest person to get to know.  I’m rather introverted, due to moving around so much in my younger years; I was always the “new girl” after school was already in session, so I never really had many friends.  I usually just clung to Melissa.  On my own, I stay quiet and mostly opt to just listen in new situations.  I loosen up with people once I get to know them, but it requires a bit of effort.  I’ve built up an almost completely impenetrable wall around myself over the years.  Due to the nature of my work, I developed a professional detachment to most situations, and it carried into my personal life.   I found it easier that way, but as a result of this, I know some of what has been said about me.  I’m quiet, I don’t have many friends at work (or away) besides Mulder, and I spend all my time in the basement with “Spooky.”  Additionally, my resting facial expression takes on the form of a scowl or a frown unless I make myself smile.  This has led people to take it upon themselves to label me awful, untrue things, like “aloof bitch.”  I was taken aback when I heard that one -- that’s not me at all, and it truly hurt my feelings.  Someone called me “Mrs. Spooky” once.  That initially amused me until I remembered how personally Mulder takes the “Spooky” thing.  The people who call him that aren’t teasing him; they have the gall to mock him to his face.  He pretends to laugh it off, or ignores it outright, but I know it stings.  It hurts me to see him hurting, so I was not okay with “Mrs. Spooky,” either.

 

  I was an adult woman with adult desires, but had no patience to make an effort to meet someone new and nurture the growth of a relationship.  The one time I reverted to behaving in the reckless way of my college years, I was almost murdered.  It was all just too much of a hassle, really.

 

 My college recklessness was rather short-lived, thankfully, once I witnessed firsthand the damage it could wreak.  Daniel was a mistake from the beginning.  I knew that going in, yet I did it anyway.  I thought we wanted the same thing.  There was a strong physical attraction between us, I could have my needs met, and I didn't have to let him in to know the REAL Dana Scully.  I never meant to be the catalyst that destroyed his marriage.  When he said he’d fallen in love with me, I knew things had to end.  I never wanted that.   

 

 That was a difference between Daniel and Mulder; I ran away without looking back when Daniel expressed his feelings for me.  True, I also left when Mulder said it, but he didn't know I spent the night awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering if maybe it _was_ more than just the drugs talking.  When I finally fell asleep that night, I dreamed of our secret family.  We took the kids to my mom's for Christmas that time.  Mulder wore a silly apron and helped my mom in the kitchen while the kids and I made ornaments out of clay.  It was nice, and felt so natural.  When I woke to a silent bedroom in a bed that seemed enormous for my small frame, I was disappointed to realize that again, I was alone.  It wouldn't feel so vast if he were there.

 

 My feelings for Mulder were turbulent at best, volatile at worst.   I fought them for a long time; I didn’t want to fall into the trivial cliché of _woman works with man/woman falls for man._  I also absolutely did not want to upset the balance of our incredible partnership; we knew each other so well, we often acted as one.  We trusted each other implicitly, and we could often communicate without words.  But isn’t that essentially the core of a relationship?   I could see the way he looked at me when he told me that I made him a whole person.  No one had ever said anything like that to me before, and I was so touched by the sentiment, by everything he said to me in the hallway, and the passion in his words.  He knew I was trying to run away, and he was railing against it.  I almost broke down and confessed one of the realest reasons driving me to run, but I knew I wasn’t going anywhere after what he’d said.  All I could do was go to him and bury my face in his shoulder; a silent apology for things left unsaid.  I couldn’t leave him; Mulder was the only person I trusted, yet I felt like I couldn’t be completely honest with him.  I was absolutely sure of his love in that moment, when he wrapped his arms around me and swallowed me whole.  What I was _not_ sure of was the qualifier he’d place before the word.  I sometimes feared that word was _brotherly._  What I felt for Mulder was in a different stratosphere entirely, and that was the root of my fear.  I was afraid of somehow letting him down, as ridiculous as it sounds.  Everyone in his life has let him down at some point; I didn’t want him to think there was an ulterior motive behind anything I’d ever done for him.  Those were the thoughts in my head as I tried to stifle my tears against his shirt, while he held me tightly enough to keep me from breaking.  I kissed his forehead and sealed it with my own, knowing he could feel my thoughts.   _I won’t leave you._  He pulled back and our eyes locked; this beautiful soul staring at me, green eyes imploring, searching, maybe a little lost.  It was one of the most emotional moments we’d ever experienced.  For a brief moment, it was like a scene in a movie.  I could almost hear violins swell as suddenly, he was tilting his head and pulling me closer.  I didn’t fight it; I _wanted_ it.  Had the bee not made its presence known at that exact moment, I finally would’ve assuaged my fears.  Sadly, the way he urgently whispered an immediate apology and backed away with his hands raised kept those same fears firmly in place.  Had I been given a chance to re-live that moment, in all its intensity (without the bee), I probably would have changed the genre of that movie and jumped in his arms, or possibly even shoved him up against the wall.  Two thumbs up, for sure.

 

 

 After my illness went into remission, I continued to follow up with my doctors regularly.  They were continually amazed at the way my health rebounded, but something wasn’t quite right.  I had my OB/GYN run some tests,  and it was absolutely confirmed that I was truly unable to ever have children;  it was quite a harsh blow to my stubborn pride.   Mulder later caught up with me in the elevator at work  and immediately knew something was very wrong.  I didn’t really know how to react when Mulder admitted he’d kept a secret from me, he said, to spare me even more pain.   

 

Mulder has never been known for thinking all of his decisions through.  He’s impulsive, and he frequently needed someone to bail himself out of a tight spot.  More often than not, that person was me.  That often led to AD Skinner pulling us both out of the fire, but no matter how many times it happened, Fox Mulder was propelled by gut instincts and intuition, and I don’t believe it’s anything he could have changed, had he even the desire to try.

 

 He admitted to me that, while in the course of following a very dangerous lead, he once came across a file drawer bearing my name.  When he opened it, there were vials inside; labeled with the date I was taken.  It was explained to him that each vial contained samples of the ova that were removed from me en masse when I was abducted in 1994.  That which was taken without my consent was found, stored in a heavily guarded facility containing similar file drawers for god knows how many other women.  Perhaps motivated by what he considered evidence in his search for the truth, but more likely motivated by a much more personal reason, he was compelled to grab at least one vial before escaping an incredibly dangerous situation.  He found what was mine and reclaimed it for me.  I only wish he’d told me about it when he’d done it, years ago.  He admitted that he’d had them tested, and they were not found to be viable, so he didn’t want me to suffer another blow as I was beginning to lose my battle with cancer.   I was initially angry with him for hiding something so huge from me, but ultimately,  I know his heart was in the right place.  Despite what Mulder said about the viability of my ova, I wanted a second opinion.  My prayers were answered when I discovered I had been granted a second chance.

 

  I saw a fertility specialist to explore my options.  He bluntly informed me that I didn't have much time, giving me the odds for someone my age hoping to conceive.  My age?  A thirtysomething woman is not old.  How dare he imply that?  The feminist in me seethed while, as a fellow doctor, I knew that biologically, he was right.  I was offered an option of sperm donors and almost laughed at them. There was only one person I wanted to father my child.  I just wasn't sure how to ask him.

 

 When I finally did, the pause he allowed to hover in the air before telling me he'd think about it sliced right through me.  I felt like a fool.  Maybe those looks he gave me were just…what his eyes looked like when he pointed them at people.  I told him to take some time to consider it and let me know.

 

 I hadn’t heard anything about it when we were sent off on our first case after the X-Files reopened.  A.D. Skinner sent us to Arcadia, California, where we had to go undercover as a married couple in a very upscale neighborhood.  Mulder hadn’t said a word, so my feelings were hurt, especially when he joked about me “just wanting to play house”;  was he _mocking_ me over my request?  I know we were there on a case, and I shouldn’t have let it affect me so personally, but it did.  I kept my distance while we were there.  I wonder if he even noticed; he seemed to be enjoying himself well enough with the constant attempts to piss off the neighbors.  Any other time, I would have loved that assignment, but it fell when there was too much left unsaid between us; I couldn’t wait to get back home.  Once we did, I’d had enough waiting, and told him that we needed to talk, but not at work.

 

 He stopped by my apartment later that afternoon.  He didn’t want to remove his coat because he said he wasn’t going to be there long.  Outwardly, I remained calm, but internally, the pit of my stomach dropped through the floor.  I’d braced myself for this, but when he said he was “flattered” by my request, it felt like a swift blow to the gut.   _Flattered_ is someone letting you down gently, and it’s generally always followed by “but,” and I didn’t think I could handle it, so I cut him off.  If he was trying to say no, it was okay, or at least it _would_ be, maybe.  I could possibly eventually recover from the total humiliation I experienced in that moment, as I internally took inventory of how much wine was in the apartment.  But then he said yes.  He _wanted_ to be a part of the suddenly not-so-secret family.  I was elated.

 

 There were enough ova to make three attempts.   The first was made as soon as my doctor indicated we could try.  We were hopeful, but the results were not a cause for celebration.  Mulder continuously reassured me that it wasn’t over; we would take a little time and try it again.  As ever, timing was never particularly kind to us.  We were assigned a murder case immediately after the second attempt.  Mulder’s theory was that it was a psychic surgeon.  I’d stopped by his apartment to deliver some autopsy results and had the most uncomfortable feeling about the man in the elevator with me.  It was actually Mulder’s next-door neighbor, who ended up being my “secret admirer,” which would have been slightly amusing had he not been so creepy, and had Mulder and I not been trying to scientifically conceive a child.  What followed was one of the most frightening events of my life; I can still feel the intruder’s hands inside my chest.  It was excruciating.  I regained consciousness to find my assailant gone and Mulder wearing his panic face as he knelt next to me.  The experience was terrifying, but there was so much more at stake than his lovestruck neighbor could have ever known.  We were both not terribly surprised at my next appointment with my doctor, when I was told, yet again, that I was not pregnant.

 

 I had one last chance, and in the weeks leading up to the IVF appointment, I was a nervous wreck.  I knew it wasn’t a good idea to be in such a constant state of stress, but I couldn’t help it.  Everything was riding on this last grasp for motherhood.  Mulder did everything in his power to get me to cheer up and calm down.  I never expected that a special game of baseball would wash my stress away.  It was really sweet of him to go to the trouble of setting up a late-night batting practice, which I never imagined myself doing.  My brothers loved baseball, but I’d always found it boring.  With Mulder pressed firmly against my backside, teaching me the importance of hips before hands, I was anything but bored.  That night not only amplified my love for Mulder, it changed my perspective.  How could I be upset about only having one more chance?  It was amazing enough that I had a chance at _all_ , and I knew Mulder wanted this as much as I did.  This journey began as something I’d only wanted for myself, but in the process, I came to understand what it felt like to be truly loved, as well as my own capacity to completely open my heart to someone else.  A calm certainty took over my demeanor.  I would go into the final appointment with nothing but positivity.

 

 Timing failed us once again, after a case exposed us to an underground hallucinatory fungus.  We were lucky we didn’t die.  I had to push out that last appointment until the next cycle, after my doctor cleared me to proceed.  I went in confidently, as planned.  During the procedure, I closed my eyes and once again imagined the secret family that would hopefully soon become real.  I left the clinic happy.  I told Mulder that I felt good about the appointment.  All we had to do was wait.

 

We both cried when we found out the final procedure didn't take.  It was devastating.  I still don't know who was doing the consoling and who was being consoled.  We clung to each other in my living room.  I buried my face in his chest as he rocked me and patted my back and let me cry.  For the first time, I really and truly let my walls down around him.  My heart shattered into a million tiny pieces when I heard his breath hitch as he rocked me.  When I looked up at him, his eyes were brimming with tears.

 

 I know him well enough to know exactly why he was so upset; that day in the hallway, he told me that he owed me everything.  This was the one thing I’d ever asked of him, and he felt like a failure because it didn’t work.  

 

 He told me to never give up on a miracle.  How could he not see that he already _was_ my miracle?

 

 I knew he loved me as much as I loved him; there was no reason to pretend.  We came to realize this with certainty during the IVF experience, yet we had not acted upon it physically.  My doctor, during my initial consultations, told me to refrain from sexual activity during the course of treatments.  I’d chuckled at the time, thinking that would absolutely not be a problem.  Little did I know.  Mulder and I gave in to our feelings, _finally_ , after so many years of waiting and wondering, and we weren’t allowed to have sex because we were too busy trying to have a baby; even _I_ could see the humor in that.  

 

 A few nights later, Mulder invited me over for our regular movie night.  Something funny, he'd said, since we'd had a rough week.  That sounded perfect.

 

 We were sunk deeply into his leather couch, sharing a bowl of popcorn, letting our fingers "accidentally" brush together over and over, as we went in for a new bite.   He looked over and grinned at me, then tossed a piece of popcorn at me.  I opened my mouth to catch it.

 

 It bounced off my nose.  I'm just happy it didn't end up in his fish tank.

 

 We both grew tired of the popcorn and set the bowl off to the side.  I'd kicked my shoes off long ago, so I tucked my feet under myself on his couch.  Mulder's arm was draped over the back of the couch, and before I knew it, he dropped it down to my shoulders.  I smiled and wiggled a little bit deeper into the rich leather of his couch.  He squeezed my shoulder, and if I could snapshot a point in time where I was truly happy, that moment would have definitely made the list.

 

 We were watching "Best in Show," which, from that night on, was always one of my favorite movies.  It's  a hysterical take on dog show life, and I love dogs.  Mulder and I kept trying to decide why one of the characters, Stefan Vanderhoof, looked somewhat familiar.  There's a really cute part of the movie where Vanderhoof and his partner are showing off a calendar they'd made of their two Shih Tzu's, and they were recreating famous historical scenes with them, and it was so funny, it gave me the giggles.  The beer may have also contributed, but that part of the movie is still funny.

 

 Mulder suddenly sat forward on the couch, pointing at the screen with his free hand.

 

 "I got it!!  That guy could be Morris Fletcher's brother," he exclaimed, proud of himself for solving the mystery.  He was right; that guy could've been related.

 

 Ugh, Morris Fletcher was no one I wanted to think about right then, but picturing _Morris_ giddy about a calendar full of overly groomed, overly posed Shih Tzu's?  I lost it, and started laughing pretty hard.  That, in turn, made Mulder start laughing, and he pulled me closer to his side.  I turned my face to him, and muffled my giggles in his shirt.  He tightened his arm around me.  I decided to find out something I'd secretly wondered about for quite some time.r

 

  _Was Mulder ticklish?_

 

 My face still buried in his shirt, I stealthily lifted a hand, pointed my index finger, and went straight for his ribs.  He jumped like an electric volt just shot through his body.  He _was_ ticklish.  I bit my lip to stifle my giggles.

 

 "Aahh!  Scullyyy," he yelped as I added another finger and started quickly alternating them as I scratched under his ribs.

 

 I lifted my chin and looked at him.

 

 "What's the matter, Mulder?  Did I just find a hidden weakness," I teased.  

 

 "No, you just caught me off--," he began.

 

 I tickled his ribs harder.

 

 Mulder squirmed against me.  "Scully, noo," he pleaded, laughing.

 

 I scritched him one more time and snuggled into his side.  He twisted his torso towards me and brought his other arm around me in a tight bear hug.  He was just so _sweet_ sometimes.  I was squished against him, but wrapped my right arm around his front, returning his hug with equal force.  I briefly wanted to bite that spot on his ribs, but resisted.

 

 I looked up at him with an expression somewhere between a smile and a smirk.  He was already looking down at me, smiling, with his eyes full of emotion.

 

 "Aw, Scully," he half-whispered, pulling me back against him as he rested his chin on top of my head.  I sighed against him, completely content.

 

 It was all so comfortable.  Was this what having a boyfriend was like?  It almost felt like it, in that moment.  There wasn't a mysterious Mrs. Mulder who might come home at any second.  There was nothing to worry about at all.  

 

 Don’t get me wrong; I've had relationships.  It had just been so long, and none of them ever made me feel the way I did after a bear hug on movie night at Mulder's.  

 

 We continued to watch the movie for a few more scenes.  I was completely lost in the plot by then.  I didn't really care.   He still had me pulled close, and I kept my arm wrapped around him.  It was so _nice_ .  I breathed deeply.  Mulder always smelled so good.  A hint of cologne mingled with body wash, mixed with his own, distinctly _Mulder_ smell.  It was masculine, it was familiar, and it was intoxicating.

 

 Mulder leaned down and placed a light kiss on the top of my head.  He breathed three syllables against my hair in a whispery sigh.

 

 Did I hear what I thought I heard?  He wasn't drugged up in a hospital.  We were snuggled up on his couch.

 

 "Hmm," I asked as I looked up at him.

 

 His eyes met mine, radiating so many things, all at once: warmth, tenderness, compassion, love…

 

 Love.

 

There was no mistaking the depth of feelings in that single look.  I melted and weakly smiled up at him.

 

 His eyelids dropped halfway down over his beautiful green eyes.

 

 I stared at his full lower lip as I bit my own, while my own eyes dropped into the same dreamy, drowsy state as his.

 

 Mulder's face was magnetic.  My lips parted slightly as I tilted my face towards his.  He leaned in closer to me.

 

 There were no bees in sight.

 

 His eyes closed as his lips met mine.  It was very gentle -- Mulder was clearly testing the water.  My eyes fluttered open as he broke the kiss; his eyes searched mine with nervous relief.  He was waiting for a signal to continue.

 

  _What a gentleman_ , I thought.

 

 A smile spread across my face as I slowly blinked and audibly exhaled.  I lightly scratched my nails down the front of his shirt and tugged it towards me.

 

 Any nervousness in his face relaxed at that.  He reached over and tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear, then cupped my face, running his thumb gently along my cheekbone.  He shook his head and turned up a corner of his mouth in appreciation before pulling me to him once more.

 

 His kiss wasn't as restrained this time.  There was a bit more urgency behind it; a pent-up need with a release years in the making.

 

 If he thought I’d be reluctant because of the sad week we’d shared, he was wrong.   I wanted this just as much as he did.  Truthfully, I was a little surprised that this was actually happening.  It _was_ happening, though, and I had no plans to waste the opportunity.

 

 I grabbed his shoulder as I kissed him harder.  I felt the tip of his tongue brush against my upper lip and that was all the encouragement I needed.  I parted my lips and sucked his pillow-soft lower lip into my mouth.  I ran circles over it with my tongue, then began gently nibbling on it.  He made a low hum of satisfaction as he exhaled.  I gently held his lower lip between my teeth as I pulled back a tiny bit; opening my eyes and staring at his.  They flew open a split second later, gazing at me in wonder.  I raised my eyebrow at him, hoping it looked more suggestive than accusatory.  

 

 His entire demeanor changed.  Mulder was a man with a purpose, and my god, it was such a turn on.

 

 I turned my head to the side, just to catch a breath.  I'm quite sure he saw the hunger on my face when I looked at him.  I shifted on his couch so my knees were tucked under me.  I braced my hands on the back of his couch, one on each side of his head.  He opened his mouth to say something, but I shushed him by placing my lips on his and softly whispering, "Shhhhhhhh."

 

 The intimacy of the moment was exquisite.  Our foreheads were almost touching.  I lifted my face slightly towards him, brushing the tip of his nose with mine as I planted a trail of quick kisses on the tip of his nose, the side of his nose, then I trailed three across his cheek, darting the tip of my tongue out to briefly mark the spot before I got to his ear.  His jaw twitched at that.  He was obviously enjoying this, and I couldn't get enough of the sight.

 

 I went in for the kill.  My tongue darted out and licked from the bottom of his earlobe up along the shell of his ear.  I stopped for a split second to blow a light puff of air into it, punctuating it again with my tongue, as I used it to explore the sensitive hollow of his ear.

 

 Mulder loudly gasped; the exhale was a low noise in his throat that matched the raggedness of his breath.  With a loud smack, he reached out and clamped a hand on my ass.  He used his other hand to take hold of my thigh, down by my knee, and pull it across his lap.  He lifted me like I was nothing and settled me directly in his lap.  My eyes were inches from his face, and if I wasn’t worked up before, the smack on my ass certainly did it.  I could devour him.

 

 “Mmmm, that’s better,” Mulder quietly breathed.  Then he reached back with both hands and molded them around my ass, pulling me towards him.  “Even better,” he mumbled drowsily.  

 

 I was still dressed (and beginning to become acutely aware of the confines of my clothes).  Mulder still had his hands on my ass, and I was completely pressed against his body.  I felt pressure on my leg that made itself known through two heavy layers of denim.  I rose a bit when I first felt it, then lowered back down, running my hands from his cheeks to his shoulders, then around front to his chest.  I let my hands linger there for a bit.

 

 “Scully,” he whispered, his voice low and intimate.  Through lowered lashes, his eyes locked with mine.

 

 I slid my hands down the impossibly soft grey cotton of his t-shirt.  When I reached the hem, I tugged it out a bit to give myself an opening, then let my fingers disappear underneath.  I let my nails work up the hard cut lines of his abdominal muscles as Mulder slowly exhaled.  I laid my palms flat against his pecs, fanning out my fingers, and brushing his nipples along the way.  The deep, soft sound of satisfaction from low in his chest encouraged me to continue on my path.

 

 “Raise your arms,” I growled, leaning forward and tugging his lower lip gently with my teeth.  I missed the feel of his hands on my ass as soon as he removed them, but he lifted his arms, as I’d commanded.  I raised my hands under his shirt, lifting it up, up, up as I went.  I was thankful he’d chosen a V-neck, as I carefully cleared the neck band over his face.

 

 Mulder’s arms were still lifted high, so I rose up on my knees as I raised his shirt still higher.  When I finally reached his hands, I was straddling his lap, completely up on my knees and trying to gain just a _bit_ more leverage by pushing my shins into the couch for balance, causing my pelvis to tip towards his chest.

 

 The second Mulder’s hands were free, he wrapped them around my torso, and buried his face in my chest, which was right at his eye level.  He began to tug my light rayon blouse out of my waistband.

 

 “Fair is fair,” he smirked.  He began to fumble with the buttons, somewhat unsuccessfully.  “I’m gonna bite these fucking things off,” he muttered.

 

 “The hell you will, Mulder.  Let me help.”

 

 I teased him by starting with the bottom button.  His eyes glazed as he recognized what I was doing.  When bare skin was visible, he settled for holding me steadily at my waist as I continued to disrobe in his lap.  I finished freeing the top button and released the fabric, so the shirt just hung open at my sides.

 

 I coyly asked him if he would like to do the honors.hr

 

 You’d think Mulder was unwrapping fine china, the way he delicately peeled my shirt from my body.  He stared at my bra, sucking in a soft breath as he got a good look at it.

 

 I made a mental note to hit up Victoria’s Secret in the next few days.

 

 This really was the moment of truth, wasn’t it?  Moving forward, nothing between us would be the same.

 

\---- ---- ----

 

 I’d like to say that the first time Mulder and I made love, it was movie perfect, with mutual fireworks exploding at the end.  Real life isn’t like the movies.  As much as we both wanted it, there was still a bit of learning curve to overcome, and realities we needed to face.  He’s almost a solid foot taller than me, for one.  That made some activities borderline comical, if not utterly impossible.  We also discovered the walls of his apartment were tissue-thin, as the walls of old buildings tend to be.  Looking back, though, I get the feeling he already knew that.  I can, um, be a little vocal sometimes.

 

 That night was the start of one of the best periods of my life.  Had I even the slightest idea that it would be so short-lived, I don’t…

 

 I don’t know what I would’ve done.

 

 I know how much he loves me.  Loved?   _Dammit._  I can’t use past-tense in regards to Mulder, no matter how hard I try to train my mind to consider _all_ possibilities.  This is all still so unreal.

 

 Somedays, I get out of bed and think that it’s going to be okay.  Then reality slams into me with the gentle grace of a wrecking ball, knocking the breath from my body.

 

 That last trip to Oregon.  Could we have known the magnitude of what was to come?  I tell myself no, because otherwise, I completely shut down.

 

 I felt strange and cold, that last night in Bellefleur.  Something was just _off_ about me.  Seeking comfort, I visited Mulder in his room, and he urged me to go home.  It wasn’t an option; I couldn’t leave him.

 

 Until I _had_ to leave him.

 

 Snuggled up with him in that little cabin bed, I remember feeling so content.  So happy.  We just cocooned ourselves into a single entity.  I slept better that night than I had in weeks.  The other times Mulder and I fell asleep together, it was always nice.  This night, though, was possibly the most content I have ever felt.

 

 Maybe, in some subconscious way, I somehow knew it would be one of the last times?  I couldn’t have;  every internal warning alarm would’ve been blaring.

 

 Just like that, like a puff of air suffocating the intense flame of a lit match, he was gone.

 

 I’d barely had time to begin processing the events that took place.  Mulder was there, and then he wasn’t, while I was stuck in a hospital nearly 3000 miles away, left to deal with the aftermath.

 

 The universe has funny timing, according to some people.  I knew all about that.  Alternately, the universe is a sadistic sociopath who relishes in hitting hard where it hurts, then sitting back and waiting for the most inopportune time to reveal that thing, that “just one more thing” that finally causes someone to break.  It shatters the strong, devours the weak; it’s the tipping point that causes some people to fold their hands, bow their heads, and quietly exit the game for good.

 

 During the confusion and early stages of grief that encompassed me when I tried to process that my sweet, beautiful Mulder, who’d wrapped me tight and held me, not 15 hours before, was simply gone.  The way Skinner later described it, Mulder was gone in such a way that would render a search party essentially irrelevant.

 

 I cried.  I tried to keep the most heart-wrenching, gasping sobs contained until I was surrounded by the hot steam of the shower.  I’ve always been strong; it’s a necessity for this job, but every nerve in my body knew this time was different.  

 

 And then, by way of the doctor following up on a routine check-up before I was discharged, the universe dropped a bombshell, that under the circumstances, may well have been nuclear.

 

 I couldn’t believe how casually it was launched.  

 

 “You’re going to be just fine, Dr. Scully.  Try to go easy on yourself.  It looks like you’re about six weeks along, so there shouldn’t be any complications, but please keep your OB/GYN informed if there are any further issues.  We’ll have your discharge paperwork ready by late afternoon, so feel free to stay here and rest in the meantime.”

 

  _Six weeks?_  Was that what he just said?

 

 I could feel the color drain completely from my face.  What?   _WHAT??_  My eyes were enormous.

 

 “I’m sorry, doctor.  You said six weeks??”  I sounded slightly frantic.

 

 “Oh!  You didn’t know yet?  Well, congratulations!  And yes, I’d put your pregnancy at or around six weeks.”

 

 I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came.  I closed it and tried again.  Nothing.  I’m sure I looked like a guppy.

 

 “Six weeks,” I managed to whisper, placing a hand on my abdomen.

 

 “I’ll leave you alone, Dr. Scully.  I’m sure you want to call your partner with the happy news!  Congratulations again!”  He closed the door behind him as he left.

 

 I slowly looked around the room, seeing nothing, as I tried to quell the white noise in my head.

 

 Pregnant.

 

 “I’m… _pregnant._ ”

 

 The word I’d included in so many prayers felt foreign as I whispered it aloud.

 

 I closed my eyes and let out a deep sigh.

 

  _Finally_.

 

 Relief washed over me in gentle waves, like the soft ripples of a pool.

 

 I could see the mirror hanging over the small sink in the room.  Other than the bright copper of my hair, my paleness blended in with the bedsheets.  The expression on my face could only be described as bewildered.  The sight of it all made me chuckle out loud at my reflection.  

 

 I slowly rubbed my hand back and forth across my abdomen.  A six week old miracle was in there.

 

 “H-Hi,” I stage-whispered, the shock completely evident in my voice as I stared at the flat plane of my stomach.  “I’m Dana.  I’m your…”   _Mother?  Mommy?  Mama?_   “I’m your Mom, and I cannot wait to meet you.”

 

 My voice wavered.

 

 A single, stunned tear snaked its way down my face.  I could feel my cheeks pulling into a smile.

 

 This was really happening.

 

 I closed my eyes and could see myself back home, rocking a bundled infant as the late afternoon sun poured through the slatted blinds.  I could almost smell baby powder.

 

 The doctor was so nonchalant when he told me; I’m sure he speaks to pregnant women all the time.  I admit that my mind was shocked so thoroughly at the words “six weeks,” I barely heard anything else the doctor said to me.

 

 Then I suddenly remembered his closing remark as he left my room.

 

 “I’m sure you want to call your partner with the happy news!”

 

  _Partner._  What a choice of words.

 

  _Mulder._  We were having a baby!  I thought of his sweet, gentle face.  He’d be an amazing father –

 

 HE’S GONE.

 

 My hand flew to my mouth, muffling the strangled cry that escaped my throat.

 

 The room went wavy as my eyes flooded with tears.  My face crumpled as the dam finally broke.  I pulled my knees to my chest, wrapped my arms around them, and buried my face as I sobbed; the sheer magnitude of everything barreled through me with locomotive strength.

 

  _I’m pregnant and Mulder is missing._

 

 I’ve never felt so terrified and alone in my entire life.

 

\---- ---- ----

 

 I managed to pull myself together by the time A.D. Skinner stopped by my room a couple of hours later.  

 

 Skinner is taking full responsibility for what happened to Mulder.  Generally stoic and stern, I saw the tears well in his eyes and braced myself.

 

 “I… I lost him,” he choked out, grasping my hand.

 

 So many tears today, we could float away on the River Sorrow.  His tears reactivated mine, and Skinner assured me that we’d find Mulder.

 

 “I _have_ to find him,” I softly replied, still somewhat dazed.   _There’s someone I need him to meet,_ I thought.

 

 Skinner turned to go, and I was suddenly overwhelmed with the need to tell him.

 

 I awkwardly called him back to my bedside.  He returned, and I had no idea how to say what I needed to tell him.

 

 I’m sure I looked somewhat spacy, as I looked around the room, unable to steady my facial expressions.  I blinked back tears, but couldn’t tell if they were joyous or sorrowful.

 

 Skinner stared at me, wondering if should brace himself for whatever it was I was trying to tell him.

 

 Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I managed to find my nerve and my voice, all at once.

 

 “I’m…  I’m pregnant.”

 

 Skinner’s eyes went wide and he opened his mouth to speak.  Failing, he closed and tried again, just like I’d done.  Skinner looked like a guppy, too.

 

\---- ---- ----

 

 It didn’t really sink in until I left the hospital.  I was driving back to my apartment and passed the sign for the upcoming Alexandria exit.  Mulder’s exit.  I always smile at it when I see it, but this time I was caught off-guard.

 

 His name escaped from me in a strangled cry, as I lifted my hand from the wheel and reached towards the sign, as if by touching it, I’d be touching Mulder, and none of this would have happened.   I gasped in a sobbing, heaving breath, and continued the route to my own apartment.

 

 I opened my front door and walked inside.  The air was still; the room dim and quiet.  I looked around the familiar space, lost in the memories of everything that had happened in this building.  My landlord was a kind man who graciously let me switch apartments after Duane Barry broke in when I lived on the ground floor; I’d moved to a similar one on the second floor.  Then Missy was murdered in the doorway.  He understood when I couldn’t stay in the apartment where my sister died; I moved up to the next floor.   I stayed in that apartment for several years, until Donnie Pfaster tried to attack me, and I shot him dead where he stood.  My landlord had an available apartment on the fifth floor, and I accepted his generous rroffer to move into the two-bedroom.  The day I signed the new, third, amendment to my lease, I could tell that he was hoping this would be the last time.  I was now on the top floor; there was nowhere else to go but away.  I probably would’ve been asked to leave by now, were I not FBI.  Murders and kidnapping aren’t anything a landlord wants to advertise in the brochure.       

 

 I stood in the kitchen and shook my head, trying to knock loose the bad memories flooding my brain.  The key rack hanging on the side of the counter still held Queequeg’s collar tag.  Tears began to well in my eyes.   _Think of something good_ , I directed myself.  This apartment was going to be full of love, not sorrow and despair.  I looked towards the spare room, trying to picture it as a nursery.  I would warm baby bottles on the kitchen stove.  I glanced back into the living room at the comfy, overstuffed couch where –

 

\-- _where Mulder fucked you silly that one time_ , my mind unhelpfully finished.

 

 And with that, he was everywhere.  Mulder was almost as much a part of this apartment as I was.  I swallowed hard around the enormous lump in my throat.   _Where is he_?

 

 “Mulder, I _need_ you here, dammit!  I need you!!”

 

 My voice echoed through my empty apartment.  I had to get ahold of myself.  I should eat something.

 

 Nothing gourmet on the menu tonight.  I needed comfort food.  Small doses of it, at least.  I still felt a bit nauseous from my own experience in Bellefleur, the baby, and the fact that two people got on that second plane to Oregon, but only one came back, while I was left here to wait.

 

 I nibbled around the edges of my PB&J on wheat.  I was so distracted, I couldn’t even taste it.  The peanut butter had protein, so the baby and I would be satisfied for the moment.  I sat the dish in the sink, which I am normally _loathe_ to do, and walked back to the freezer.  I couldn’t remember if I had any Dreamsicle bars, or if I’d finished them off before Bellefleur.

 

           _Before Bellefleur_ – Mulder was here.

                    _After Bellefleur_ – Mulder was gone.     

 

 I smiled ruefully and opened the freezer door.  No Dreamsicles.  I glanced around the freezer, taking stock of what was there, when I saw it.

 

 It was just a frozen package of tilapia, but I gasped as something occurred to me.

 

  _Who was going to feed Mulder’s fish?_

 

 His little collection of fish, swimming away in the tank on the shelf; no idea that the man who fed them wasn’t coming home.

 

 “I have to take care of his fish,” I sobbed to myself in the empty kitchen.

 

 I stumbled to my room and pulled out some clothes that were a bit more comfortable than what I’d worn home from the hospital.  After I changed, I stopped by the bathroom before the trip to Alexandria.  I caught my reflection in the bathroom mirror.  Dear god, I looked frightful.

 

 My eyes were red and puffy from crying more today than I had over the past five years.  The little makeup I wore was smudged around the corners of my eyes, and my hair was rumpled and sticking out in places, thanks to the pillow in the hospital room.

 

 I looked _tired_.  I looked with pity at the woman in the mirror who I barely recognized.  I grabbed my toothbrush and went to work.  I washed my face with my favorite cleanser, then soaked another washcloth in warm water and pressed it against my eyes for a minute.  I brushed my hair back into a short ponytail, then reapplied a little mascara and lip gloss.  I removed the elastic and fluffed my hair back down around my face.   I took another look at myself.

 

 There.  That was a little better.

 

 ---- ---- ----

 

 I made the same drive to Mulder’s that I’d made a hundred times before, essentially on autopilot as my mind wandered.  I was apprehensive of what I’d see when I was there.  Will it be different?  Will the apartment just _know?_

 

 I sighed.  I guess there was only one way to find out.

 

**42**

 

 I stared at the number attached to Mulder’s door.  How many times had that door swung open, right as I approached, as if he just felt my presence?  I looked down the hallway where he’d almost kissed me for the first time, two years ago.  Fucking bee.

 

 I could stand there and daydream about better days, or I could put one foot in front of the other and face my new reality head-on.  After a couple of shaky attempts, the key slid home, and I unbolted the door.  Taking a deep breath, I steeled myself and pushed opened the door, closing it behind me as I entered.

 

 It was the exact apartment I’d visited just days before, when I was trying to light a fire under Mulder’s ass so we could make it to the airport on time.

 

 I bit my lip hard.  I would give _anything_ to go back to that point and just let us be late enough to miss the damn plane.  But no, Dana Scully had to be so fucking _punctual_.  Mulder was right; in the middle of a rather intense argument once, he condescendingly referred to me as “Little Miss Perfect.”

 

 I felt my cheeks flush hot with shame.  I know it’s silly to blame myself, but right then, I couldn’t help it.

 

 The light of the fish tank caught the corner of my eye.  Mulder’s fish flocked to the top corner of the tank as they saw me approach.  The poor little things _were_ hungry.  I sprinkled some food along the top of the water, and they rushed over to snag it.  I bent down to watch them through the glass.  It was very calming.  Fish just lived their fishy lives, unconcerned about the larger world around them.  I watched a molly swim towards Mulder’s UFO tank decoration and sighed; were it only that easy to find the _whatever it was_ that took Mulder away from me, from us.

 

 Maybe the combination of my leaning over and the movement of the fish didn’t agree with me, but I found myself racing to Mulder’s bathroom.  I had just enough time to lift the seat and lean over the bowl before the PB&J remnants violently exited my body.

 

 It occurred to me that the reason I’d been feeling so out of sorts lately wasn’t stress-related, as I’d thought.  It was the baby.  Now that I look back on it, all of the little discomforts and occasional nausea I’d been experiencing were crystal clear signs of pregnancy.

 

 Only I hadn’t realized I still had a need for a crystal ball.  When we’d exhausted the IVF attempts, we were no longer barred from sexual activity, so we’d spent a fairly large amount of time over the next several months, making up for seven years of lost time.  Pregnancy never even occurred to me.   It was impossible.  I’d been _told_ it was impossible, but here I was.   _And here he wasn’t_ , my brain taunted.

 I flushed, and silently apologized to Mulder for fouling his bathroom, then took a washcloth from the rack to wash off my face.  I stood there with the damp cloth over my eyes as the fatigue claimed me.  I would not be making the almost hour-long trip back to my own apartment tonight.

 

 I stood in the doorway and stared at Mulder’s bedroom as if it were a hallowed place.  My new eyes took in everything.  This was the most private of his domains.  My gaze found his bed.  I slept here the night before we went to Oregon.  I suppose that was the last innocent night.  We had no idea what the hours following the dawn held for our future.  

 

 I also stayed the night in this bed the night before he returned to Bellefleur with Skinner.  I wasn’t feeling well, so we mostly just lay there and continued our discussion from the night before; Mulder spoke of there being “so much more than this” to me, and he was right.  It was right there.  We had no idea there was a third person sharing our space.  That would have changed everything.

 

 I looked to the heavens and closed my eyes.  I remembered the tenderness with which Mulder comforted me after our failed final attempt at in-vitro fertilization.

 

 “Never give up on a miracle.”

 

 I never expected miracles to come with such a high cost.

 

 The lump in my throat returned.  I fought it; if I gave in now, I might never be able to stop.  Would this be the thing that finally undoes me?

 

 Several years ago, as the cancer ravished my body, I found some small solace putting pen to paper, journaling what I thought were the final chapters of my story.  Perhaps I should get back into the habit of chronicling my journey, as I waded into these new turbulent waters without an anchor.

 

 Mulder’s bed, empty of the warmth it radiated just 48 hours before, still beckoned me.  I gave in to the call, shedding both shoes and jacket as I reached the edge.

 

 For a brief, beautiful instant, he was there, stretching a hand towards me in invitation; his smile warm, and his tender green eyes shining with love.  I reached my own hand to him as I whispered his name.

 

 I was still alone in the room; the vision replaced with the unused pillow on his side of the bed, and a blue shirt at the foot, discarded as he’d hurriedly packed for Bellefleur.  Wherever he was, I hoped it wasn’t cold.  I picked up the shirt and held it against me as I turned down the covers and crawled beneath them, as his mattress yielded to my weight.  The familiar smell of Mulder surrounded me.  I rolled to my side and clutched his pillow to my chest, burying my nose in its softness; his conversant scent a comfort to me.

 

 “Come home,” I mumbled into the pillow.  “We need you to come home.’

 

 I didn’t cry, but his pillow quietly absorbed the few silent tears that escaped my control as total exhaustion overtook my mind and body.  I cradled his shirt against me.  After a few fitful false starts, I felt myself sinking, and then I was floating.

 

 Finally, _finally_ , I slept.

**Author's Note:**

> A million thanks to the lovely @crossedbeams for being an early beta on this. She made me stop rushing through major things and actually flesh out the details. Thank you, dear.
> 
> As a result, I ended up plotting out the entire timeline of Per Manum and the IVF journey. My headcanon is locked on this.
> 
> Also, the three syllables might not be what you think they are...


End file.
